By Valentine Obienyem

The true revolution Nigeria needs is a break with the past, a transformation of civic culture, ethics of leadership, and public participation. This is the revolution that undermines corruption, enthrones accountability, and restores hope.

Revolution is not merely a dramatic or violent overthrow of governments; it is, more profoundly, a warning signal that societies emit, like a volcano emitting lava, when injustice, corruption, exclusion, and moral or material degradation have reached intolerable levels. It arises when established institutions lose their legitimacy – and of which institution is this not true in Nigeria? – and when the social contract between rulers and the ruled collapses. In such moments, revolution becomes the language of a people who have exhausted peaceful avenues of redress and can no longer endure the weight of systemic failure.

In other words, revolution functions as a painful but necessary process of renewal. It is the weeding out of entrenched falsehoods, surgical removal of decayed structures, and destructive habits that choke the life of a society. By clearing away what has become irredeemably dysfunctional, revolution creates the possibility – though not the guarantee – of a fresh beginning. It offers a chance for a nation to rediscover its values, reconstruct its institutions, and realign power with justice, dignity, and the common good.

History offers powerful illustrations of this truth. In the French Revolution, the accumulated suffering of ordinary people eventually broke the bonds of obedience and unleashed one of the most consequential upheavals in modern history. The careless speech of Marie Antoinette was merely a trigger. Reflecting on this process, Mirabeau posed a piercing question: “Have these men studied, in the history of any people, how revolutions commence and how they are carried out? Have they observed by what a fatal chain of circumstances the wisest men are driven far beyond the limits of moderation, and by what terrible impulses an enraged people is precipitated into excesses at the very thought of which they would have shuddered?” His warning exposed a central truth of revolutionary moments – that upheavals are not initially driven by extremists, but by the steady pressure of injustice and neglect, which, when left unchecked, push even the most moderate societies and individuals toward desperate and radical ends.

What happened in France was not unique. Throughout history, revolutions have erupted because ordinary people were pushed to the breaking point by unbearable conditions. Recently, I met a lawyer who had been detained by security agencies for months over a matter that could have been resolved in less than a week. In his own case, he had a wealthy brother who supported him. What, then, of those who do not have an “Abraham” to stand by them? When he was finally released, he was so frustrated and disillusioned that he expressed a willingness to join any revolutionary movement he could find, eager to fight against the injustices that had made life in Nigeria so difficult for many.

The American Revolution burned with resentment against colonial exploitation and denial of political representation; the Haitian Revolution erupted under the brutal yoke of slavery and racial dehumanization; the Chinese Revolution was powered by deep poverty, social exploitation, and foreign domination; and the Arab Spring sprang from frustration with corruption, unemployment, repression, and stolen futures. These historical moments share common causes: inequality, systemic corruption, political exclusion, economic hardship, abuse of power, suppression of basic freedoms, erosion of dignity, and, above all, the collapse of hope – just like our computer collapsed under “Mohmoodian” glitch – in the possibility of reform within existing systems.

Even in our own time, this pattern continues to repeat itself. Today, a different kind of revolution is unfolding thousands of miles away in Iran, where widespread protests have erupted across cities like Tehran, Isfahan, Shiraz, and Mashhad, driven by soaring inflation, deepening economic crisis, and public anger at entrenched political and religious leadership. Demonstrations began with economic grievances – skyrocketing prices and a collapsing currency – but have swiftly grown into broader challenges to the regime’s authority and legitimacy. Authorities have responded with force, internet shutdowns, and mass arrests, reflecting how desperate governments react when people reach their limits.

Against this global background, Nigeria’s situation becomes even clearer. In Nigeria, too, the conditions for revolutionary pressure exist. Corruption has become systemic; public resources are routinely plundered, basic services are missing, and inequality grows every year. Economic hardship is now a daily reality for millions of citizens. The failures of leadership—political, economic, and moral—have left ordinary Nigerians with shrinking opportunities, growing insecurity, and diminishing trust in the state. Meaningful change cannot come through polite silence alone—it will require the righteous indignation of citizens who refuse to accept mediocrity and corruption as normal.

Yet, despite this growing pressure, the people of Nigeria today are disillusioned. The conditions that Mirabeau described—a fatal chain of circumstances driving citizens beyond moderation—are visible in the everyday struggles of Nigerians who wrestle with unemployment, insecurity, inflation, and political exclusion. Many who once placed their trust in peaceful, constitutional change now question whether the system can be transformed from within without a fundamental break with past habits of governance.

However, at this point, an important caution must be introduced. But here we must recognize a vital point captured by Durant: violent revolution often destroys more than it creates, and only a profound shift in national character and values can build lasting progress. Durant argued that revolutions that fail to transform the underlying moral and intellectual principles of a society often lead to new forms of corruption or stagnation. The true revolution Nigeria needs is a break with the past, a transformation of civic culture, ethics of leadership, and public participation. This is the revolution that undermines corruption, enthrones accountability, and restores hope.

Therefore, Nigeria today stands at such a crossroads. Economic decay, political mismanagement, and social despair could drive people to extremes that few would have imagined: exactly what Mirabeau warned against. But the choice is not merely between chaos and calm; it is between a revolution of character and purpose and a slow descent into disorder. What Nigeria needs is a revolution of renewal, exemplified by strong, ethical leaders like Peter Obi, and a citizenry determined to reclaim its future not through destruction, but through restoration and reform.

This brings us directly to why Obi is mentioned. The reference to Obi is grounded in his antecedents. We know what Anambra State used to be before he governed it, precisely under Mbadinuju, and that memory reminds us of what Nigeria has become today. Things have gone terribly wrong. Anambra itself had drifted into decay until 2006, when a disruptive meteor entered and altered its orbit. He introduced policies that stimulated inventiveness, industry, and thrift. He marched through the fisc with an economizing scythe, abolishing offices that carried emoluments without duties and restoring discipline, purpose, and direction to governance.

In the same spirit, only by breaking decisively with the patterns that have held us back can a new Nigeria that is possible begin. Just as Obi, our meteor, altered the orbit of Anambra, so does Nigeria now need a leader like him capable of altering her own trajectory. By confronting and dismantling Nigeria of corruption, impunity, and complacency that has taken root at the national level, Nigeria can truly transform.

Ultimately, the world has witnessed revolutions that toppled regimes, but history teaches that lasting change does not come merely from the fall of governments; it comes from a transformation in a society’s values, priorities, and collective will. Let that be the revolution Nigeria seeks today, not a revolution of burning buildings, but one fuelled by a burning desire for justice, integrity, discipline, and a shared sense of national purpose.

Consequently, to achieve it, the country definitely does not need the likes of President Ahmed Bola Tinubu. Each day he remains as president, arising from a stolen mandate, brings untold hardship upon the people. Nigerians are tired and are just waiting for 2027 to do the needful. Indeed, there is nothing revulsive in the history of governance in Nigeria than the rise of PBAT, or more comforting than the thought of Mr. Peter Obi becoming the next president.

By Prince Ejeh Josh

Words briefly deserted me as I searched for the most fitting expression to capture the depth, character, and exceptional essence of my brother—ezigbo nwannem na Nomeh—Hon. Uche Anichukwu, when news of his birthday filtered through. Not for lack of vocabulary, but because some lives are so richly layered that ordinary language struggles to contain them.

Uche Anichukwu—Onyeishi Okanga to friends, and Otiagbala to his inner caucus (smiles, winks, laughter)—if I may borrow these deeply cultural yet metaphysical appellations, is a man who has consistently demonstrated the finest virtues of friendship, loyalty, discipline, resilience, dedication, and intellectual courage. These are not traits he performs; they are principles he lives by.

Wherever destiny has led him—whatever the direction or terrain—Anichukwu has remained remarkably constant in values, standards, and convictions. He is predictable only in his integrity. Refined yet firm, cerebral yet humane, he is the kind of personality one instinctively trusts—a dependable pillar, a reassuring presence. I speak from shared experience: he is, in every sense, a good man.

Before providence finally aligned our paths, my encounters with Anichukwu were from a respectful distance. I read him. I admired him. His brilliance radiated from his writing—clear, incisive, fearless. Yet I kept my distance, mistaking his intellectual height for Olympian aloofness. That assumption, I later discovered, was entirely unfounded. What I met was humility clothed in brilliance.

At the height of his media influence, Uche Anichukwu had already become a household name across Nigeria’s media and political landscape. The former Deputy President of the Senate, His Excellency Chief Ike Ekweremadu, rarely attended engagements without Anichukwu by his side. Over time, he evolved from trusted aide to indispensable confidant—almost family. That transition was neither accidental nor political; it was earned through loyalty, competence, hard work, and uncommon trust. Such is the reward of character.

Earlier still, Anichukwu had served with distinction as an aide to the former President of the Nigerian Senate, His Excellency Senator Ken Nnamani. In that role, he brought rare intellectual depth and forensic scrutiny to public communication and policy analysis. Fearlessly interrogating instruments of governance—including national budgets—his work exposed irregularities, saved the nation from fiscal malfeasance, and upheld the sanctity of public trust. On the walls of the Senate, figuratively written in his ink, are moments of true service to humanity.

With his transition to working with Senator Ekweremadu, Anichukwu sustained his vocation of national service—deploying his pen in the rigorous assessment of government projects, executive scorecards, and budgetary performances. Beyond Nigeria’s borders, he projected the brighter hues of our national identity, countering negative stereotypes with facts, intellect, and hope. Through his writing and strategic communication, he became a quiet but powerful ambassador of Nigeria’s possibilities. His audacious faith in a better Nigeria remains both infectious and inspiring.

In the past year, destiny again brought us together—this time in a defining collective effort to reimagine and recreate the Enugu State of our dreams. It was not a project driven by sentiment, clannishness, or selfish ambition, but by a sober conviction that the moment represented a historic opportunity—a turning point which, if missed, could take generations to recover. We saw it clearly. It felt prophetic, akin to the Magi’s journey so eloquently captured by T. S. Eliot.

We pressed forward—through rough terrains, fierce resistance, ambushes, and calculated distractions. Like Herod’s men of old, forces arose determined to abort the mission. Yet prophecy prevailed. Alongside Dan Nwomeh, Uche Anichukwu, myself, and later Reuben Onyishi, we journeyed through the harmattan of uncertainty, clothed in hope for a redeemed Enugu State. Even before the tunnel ended, we saw the light. And when Governor Peter Mbah emerged, the people joyfully proclaimed: “We have found him.”

By every material and professional metric, Anichukwu qualifies as a “big man”—a foremost media and communications strategist, consultant to high-profile individuals and international organisations. Yet humility defines him more than affluence. He wears success lightly, teaching by example that true greatness needs no announcement. That lesson alone is priceless.

From him, I have also learnt discipline, proactivity, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. He works with zeal, precision, and respect for time—always delivering with clarity and calm. Working with him as Senior Special Assistant to the Executive Governor of Enugu State on External Relations has been an indelible privilege. He brings grace, balance, and equanimity to duty. For his understanding, professionalism, and camaraderie, I remain deeply grateful.

As you mark another year, Onyeishi Okanga, may the Almighty God renew your strength, enlarge your coast, and bless you beyond measure.

Happy Birthday, my elder brother—_my oga at work and even at home since I continue to learn from him_. May the years ahead be filled with grace, impact, divine favour, and enduring fulfilment. Congratulations, and many more fruitful years of God’s goodness and mercy.

By Ebuka Ukoh

In Nigeria, December arrives like a festival competing with itself. The streets get louder, the music gets brighter, and the pressure to feel joyful rises faster than airline ticket prices. It is a beautiful season, yet many of us enter it carrying a quiet tension. We try to look happy while our hearts whisper a different truth.

Christmas in Nigeria is loud, perhaps not so loud nowadays. The excitement is real, and December is dirty. But music blares from every corner. People travel home in droves. Photographers line up for family portraits. New clothes, new hair, new plans. All that joy deserves celebration. Yet, beneath the glitter, many of us feel a pull inside. We perform happiness while harbouring unspoken worries.

I felt that tension myself. My mind drifted to checklists. Did I hit my goals this year? Did I grow? Did I become the person I hoped to be? Reflection matters, but I have assessed myself by outcomes. So, I pause. I ask a different question. Am I well?

Christmas can be loud while we are not in tune with ourselves. We rush. We give beyond our strength. We pretend. Sometimes the external noise hides the innermost feelings.

Name what is going on

This year, some people celebrate their first Christmas in a new city. Some are spending it with a significant other. Some hold newborn babies. Some sit at tables with one empty chair. Some juggle quiet family tensions. Some hope the year ends without more chaos. Others pray the new year brings softness.

Before planning anything, take note of what is present. Notice yourself. Name your state. Joy. Grief. Pride. Confusion. Exhaustion. Gratitude. The heart deserves recognition before instruction.

Jesus understood this

If you study the life of Jesus, you see a man in tune with himself. He stepped away to think, pray, and reflect. He explained rather than convinced those who doubted him. He acted from clarity, not desperation. He paused at key moments, and those pauses shaped direction.

We love to tell the stories of miracles. We forget the stillness that made them possible. Peace starts with inner honesty. He did not pour from an empty cup.

Your feel-good self matters

There is a type of helping that is not love but anxiety. We rush to fix others because we fear sitting with our own discomfort. We want to feel needed. Then we call it care. Sometimes it is avoidance.

The best gift you can give anyone this Christmas is your well self. Not your decorated self. Not your pretending self. Your well self. When you show up with clarity, you create space for others to carry their responsibilities. You make room for truth. You create boundaries that protect growth. Things may not go smoothly, but you can be well. That presence changes the atmosphere more than any gift.

Courage to say, “I am not okay”

There is dignity in honesty. When you hurt, admit it. When you need rest, take it. When you need support, ask. Strength is not silence. Strength is truth spoken with care. You do not earn love by hiding your condition. You honour love by naming it.

Slowing down is not failure. Pausing is not giving up. It is choosing to treat yourself as human and valuable. Remember, the body keeps the scores; if it is not cared for adequately, it manifests in mostly unpleasant ways.

Look beyond yourself, then inward again.

After noticing yourself, notice others. The neighbour who looks strong but feels alone; the cousin who jokes too much, and the friend who always plans and never receives care. True presence comes from being grounded. When you are well, you carry comfort without losing yourself.

Christmas is not a competition of who looks happiest. It is a moment to be truthful about humanity.

Real reason for the season

People say Jesus is the reason for the season. That is true. Yet he lived with the conviction that you are worth showing up for. Your healing matters. Your peace matters. Your well-being matters. You and I are part of the reason for the season…because God saw value in us. Love requires healthy carriers.

This year, permit yourself to be well. Permit others to take responsibility for their well-being. Let joy be real. Let grief be acknowledged. Let rest be honoured. Let’s be honest.

Christmas begins in the soul before it reaches the streets. When we treat ourselves with truth, we treat others with grace. That might be the gift that makes the season meaningful again.

I hope this season meets you with softness and gives your heart the space it needs to breathe.

Mr Ukoh, an alumnus of the American University of Nigeria, Yola, and PhD student at Columbia University, writes from New York.